


warm hands, warm face

by nasaplates



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, M/M, idolverse, misaligned love languages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 07:13:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20484932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nasaplates/pseuds/nasaplates
Summary: Minghao is always a good friend. / Seokmin is worth too much to lose.





	warm hands, warm face

**Author's Note:**

  * For [earthshaker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthshaker/gifts).

> I asked friends to hashtag Get Me and dia came out the winner. thanks dia ❤

Minghao is always there when Seokmin cries. It would be weird, if Seokmin thought about it too hard or questioned it too much, but when he's that emotional he never does. The hand on his thigh and the arm around his shoulders always feels too nice to care. Grounding. Present. Minghao's face close to his, catching his eye, murmuring comfort to him. He knows he'll be okay, when Minghao is looking at him like that.

Minghao is always a good friend.

***

Seokmin is beautiful when he cries. Minghao hates it. On one hand it's lovely, to know someone so soft exists and has let Minghao close enough to see that open heart, that warm vulnerability. It's astonishing to see someone that will lay their feelings on a stage in front of thousands like that, shameless in his emotions.

On the other hand, Minghao wants to fold him up and tuck him into his pocket.

That's a lie, or at least half of one.

Minghao wants to push him against a wall, cage him with his body, kiss him and kiss him and kiss him until he doesn't taste like salt anymore, until he's wracked with something that will fog Minghao's glasses for being too close to Seokmin's panting breaths.

Minghao wants a lot of things. He's heavy with it, always heavy, heavy hands, heavy gaze. Minghao is careful with his touches. If he isn't he might do something stupid, even outside of the stage lights and screaming crowds, even when they're not DK and The8 anymore, even then. Minghao is careful.

Seokmin is worth too much to lose.

***

It takes Seokmin an embarrassingly long time to catch on, but that's typical for him, honestly. His friends have always teased him for being the last to know when he's being hit on.

Seokmin beams at Minghao, high off the concert air, and tells him that he loves him, that Minghao is his best friend. Minghao just smiles back. Junhui's the one who purses his lips at Seokmin over Minghao's shoulder and shakes his head. 

For some reason it's Junhui's face that triggers the domino crash, connects all the dots, cold bucket of water to the face. It's like Junhui reached into Seokmin's head and flicked on the light.

Years and years of smiles and moments and gifts given gently, fondness spilling out like flowers overgrowing their garden bed. Minghao seeking him out, Minghao's hands, Minghao's face when Seokmin is crying. Warm hands, warm face. 

Seokmin had always taken his care for distance, the lightness of his touch and his gaze for polite romantic disinterest. Seokmin hadn't even realized, all this time, that Seokmin had even entertained the thought, had even looked for that spark in Minghao's eyes. He hadn't even known about the fissure in his heart until he saw that it wasn't there at all.

"Oh," Seokmin says, sweat from the concert still cooling on his back, the crowds having barely left, none of them even changed to go home.

When Seokmin kisses Minghao, he's smiling so wide it's barely a kiss at all.

***

It's stupid to kiss him here, exposed, backstage with people who may or may not be kind enough to abstain from ruining their careers. They could still laugh it off, if Minghao pulled away right now, excessive skinship, high on adrenaline. If Minghao feigned disgust and wiped off his mouth and pushed Seokmin away, they'd be fine. No harm done.

Minghao pulls him closer. Minghao wraps his hands around Seokmin's biceps and pulls him in and tilts until the awkward mash of faces, Seokmin smiling like the sun, becomes easy. Until Minghao feels the tingle in his scalp.

Junhui laughs in Minghao's ear as he tugs them apart, double time steps into a free dressing room. Someone, probably Jeonghan, wolf whistles, jeers and applause along with it. They'll never hear the end of it. Minghao doesn't let go of Seokmin's bicep. Junhui shoves them into the room, waggles his eyebrows, and slams the door.

It's awkward, Minghao's hand still on Seokmin, Seokmin's eyes wide and suddenly unsure. Minghao chuckles and does what he's always wanted to do; slowly but surely cages Seokmin in and covers him with his body, satisfied hum when Seokmin's back hits the door. They just stare at each other, blurred with nearness, an impression of golden earth in his eyes, the suggestion of that sharp nose. Seokmin's breath is hot on Minghao's mouth.

This time, this kiss, is hungry from the start.

***

Something in Seokmin's heart catches and burns like a signal fire at the first touch of Minghao's tongue against his. Something in him clicks, like throwing a lock, like opening a door, like the rush of a joint put back in place.

Seokmin finds his hands on Minghao's neck, tangled in the hair on the back of his head. Seokmin finds his voice again, not knowing he'd lost it in the first place, when he says, _ "Minghao," _ into his mouth.

***

Seokmin lets Minghao wrap his hand around him, lets Minghao watch Seokmin tip his golden head back, glowing like sunlight, cheeks dusted with pink, mouth open and wet and wanting. Minghao pulls him off with quick tight strokes, and it's stupid, it's so magnificently stupid when Seokmin is saying his name in that way that can only mean this, can only mean he's going to come apart in Minghao's palm.

Minghao doesn't stop. Minghao couldn't stop even if it meant the end to everything. He's wanted, for so long he's wanted, and he's going to be selfish, this one time so fucking selfish he's going to make Seokmin come and he's going to cradle him in the aftermath.

He presses closed kisses all over Seokmin's hot and blotchy face, cheeks and eyebrows and forehead, the unerring slope of his nose. Seokmin's come is on Minghao's hand, probably making an embarrassing mess of both of their clothes and Minghao doesn't care. Minghao fiercely, absolutely, in a place no stage light could ever reach, doesn't give a fuck.

Seokmin kisses him. Seokmin cups the back of his head and pulls him close and kisses him, still panting, like he missed him, like he doesn't ever intend to stop.

Junhui pounds on the door and says something in Mandarin about hurrying up, lovebirds, or they'll leave without them. It makes Seokmin jump, and then laugh. Minghao doesn't stop kissing him, not until he has to.

***

Seokmin dreams that night, when he finally falls asleep at four in the morning, he and Minghao in separate beds. He dreams of the sea, a shoreline bathed in sun and salt and sand. He dreams of a dog barking and playing in the waves. There's a hand in his. He knows this hand. He's felt this hand in his more times than he can count. It's a beautiful dream, and in it he cries for the beauty, for nameless things that well up inside of him and spill like a summer shower. An arm goes around him. Minghao's face fills his vision. Minghao's thumb dries his tears.

When Seokmin opens his eyes, Minghao is on the bed, watching. It would be weird, if Seokmin thought about it too hard or questioned it too much. Tears fall from his eyes, drip off his nose, blur his vision.

Minghao's hand cards through his hair, and he murmurs soft comfort to him until Seokmin falls back asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading ❤


End file.
